This is a funny but flawed essay on the upcoming digital revolution driving record stores into the ground. Sometimes record stores are like a nature documentary, with the alpha male shooing off all comers with a deep groan and a show of antlers. And sometimes buying an album that's even a touch mainstream is like buying Hustler at Barnes and Noble. But still, it's a beautiful thing digging through CDs to find something hard-to-get or just browsing around, killing a few hours. It's intrinsic to the experience, like going to a bar as opposed to drinking alone at home. It's all part of the thrill that doesn't come from typing a name into a search engine, surly cashier be damned.